


Periaktos: Before the Storm

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Tempest - Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-24
Updated: 2006-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1633370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>parenthood, relationships.  Nothing ever ends up as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Periaktos: Before the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> With grateful thanks for thoughtful betas from Sageness and Kindkit.   
>  I recently saw the Royal Shakespeare Company production of this with Patrick Stewart (_second_ time I've seen Stewart as Prospero, wow!) and it blew me away. It certainly had an impact on the pasts I envisioned here, particularly Ariel and Caliban. Hope you like it.
> 
> Written for anotherusedpage

 

 

**_“Had I not four or five women once that tended me?”_ **

Down the endless echoing halls she ran, laughing breathlessly. Her small bare feet struck lightly against the cool, smooth floors. Far off behind her she heard doors open, and voices rise in concern. Around a corner, she slipped quickly into darkness. The voices softened, fell away behind her. Another corner, two, then through a long gallery, wind through a open window catching at her nightdress, blowing it wide and white and billowing. 

Ahead she saw candlelight, heard hasty, heavy footsteps. A small tree stood in a pot at the end of this hall; she knew it well. Hastening ahead, she slid into the space behind the tree. Such a small space. No one ever thought to find her here. Just in time she ducked below the edge of the pot, as around the corner came a young guardsman, candle held high, spurred on by the harsh whispers of an old, fat serving-woman. Both gazed searchingly about, moving quickly down the hall, candlelight fading away. 

She crept from her hiding place, and slowly, carefully, rounded the corner. As she had hoped, the door was open, just a crack. Stealthily, she pushed it further - just far enough to see inside. The room was full of so many strange and wonderful things. The window on the far side of the room was unglazed; through it a gleaming brass tube pointed up to the heavens. Beside the fire, a giant lizard stood, a multitude of teeth glinting from between its lifeless jaws. Several steps inside the door a monstrous large ball hung suspended, as ever, slowly spinning. Everywhere she looked, books: books on shelves, books on tables and chairs, books in stacks far above her own head. She was not to enter this room – each of her maids had caught her here many times, and quickly removed her back to her own rooms. It would not do for her to be found here; the magics were wild and dangerous. 

Yet every time she managed to evade her maids for more than a moment, this was her destination. She understood that she was not as important as the books, but he was far more interesting than any of her maids. He rarely saw her, never spoke to her. But things _happened_ when he was around. Her maids would catch her, hold her still, rapidly smooth her clothes and hair. The men would stop talking to one another; all eyes would fix on him. Oftentimes he merely stalked through the room, lost in his own thoughts. But all eyes fixed on him, all conversation ceased until he had moved on. Once, she had watched him through this door: his robes had churned in the harsh breeze from his open window, his voice had sounded in words she didn't understand, and blue fire had trailed from his fingertips. 

Tonight, he merely sat at his table, a lamp-globe beside him and books piled high all around. Steps sounded again in the hallway behind her. He raised his eyes reluctantly from his reading, and immediately spotted her crouched in the doorway. His thick black eyebrows drew together, and he slowly raised one hand to stroke his beard. He began to rise from his chair, but she quickly jumped up and spun away down the hall. Away into the cool darkness she ran, back to the familiar confines of her rooms, and the ever more watchful attentions of her maids. 

* * *

****_“...so, of his_ gentleness,   
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me   
From mine own library with volumes that   
I prize above my dukedom”

    _Gonz._   
Weep not, my lord. Thou shall soon see that which will amend thy pain.

    _Pros._   
On this storm-toss'd, foul-smelling shade of a vessel there can be naught that will mend the treachery of a brother so well-trusted.

    _Gonz._   
My lord, your daughter have I brought thee here. Her loyal maid hath spirited her away, from below the traitor's very nose.

_Pros._   
And what use is she to me, a mewling, bawling infant?

_Gonz._   
In caring for her helplessness, my lord, thine own cares shall be lessened.

    _Pros._   
Set adrift, in a leaking shell of a boat, with none but a helpless babe to aid me? My cares shall be light indeed!

    _Gonz._   
Peace my lord, the King's men come to see you disposed of. If thou canst take no comfort in thy child, be yet comforted again, for I have stowed beneath the deck-plates some volumes from thy library, as many as could be carried away in secret. 

    _Pros._   
Good Gonzalo, thou art a true friend after all. I shall some day avenge myself on my brother and the discourteous Alonso, but thou shalt be spared my wrath.

          _Exeunt_

* * *

**_“A freckl'd whelp, hag-born, - not honour'd with  
A human shape.”_ **

Bound as he was, and twisted with pain, he did not notice for some time the new sounds and scents issuing from the noisome confines of the cave. The night darkened and rain beat down, and the thin, high noise from within grew in strength, wore on, and finally weakened. The cave's flickering firelight faded, and the noise from within ended with a series of sharp cracks. A piece of offal flew from the cave, landing not far from him.

When the old crone made her crablike, creeping way past him into the blackened forest, he flinched away from the habitual blows of her staff, fire licking throughout his being. He huddled back against the reeking earth. Such was his clouded consciousness that did not notice that her step lacked its usual vigor, and that the blows lacked some of their customary magical sting. 

He lay still upon the ground, not moving. Soon enough a small, unpleasant hiccup sounded near his head. He turned, focusing his attention. In the muddy puddle nearby, motion caught his eye. The hiccup sounded again. He drew up his wracked and weary body, and dragged himself to the puddle. A strange little creature lay therein, oddly bent limbs trembling in the frigid mire. Under the faint moonlight, he saw that its skin was spotted and banded, ranging from dark pebbly gray to pale scabrous pink. 

He slowly reached out, dragging it from the puddle. It flailed more weakly still, and screwed up its face in a twisted grimace, but made no further sound. He tucked it carefully into the crook of his arm, pulling his ragged, rotten coat around them both. He rocked his body slowly, and quietly crooned to the child.

 


End file.
